Rescue

but in a slightly different pattern and almost new, as though someone recently had tried to match the wallpaper. There was nothing on the top of the bureau, not perfume or comb or even a penny of leftover change.
    Pettengill had watched me opening and closing things. “Oz didn’t tell us different, I never would’ve thought somebody was living in this room.“
    Hard to argue with him.
    Crossing his arms, the chief leaned into the wall, moving his back around like a bear against a tree. “This would have been the master bedroom when Oz and his wife could make those stairs.“
    I shook my head. “Let’s go down to the kitchen.“

    Old tin cabinets over Formica counters, the aluminum molding for protecting the edges long since gone. At the sink, gooseneck faucet, petaled handles, porcelain corroded around the drain. A Hostess donut box, empty on the counter next to a plastic dish holder. In the holder were a single plate, glass, knife, fork, and spoon drying, as though Finn took from the holder only the things needed for each meal, then washed them and put them back in the holder again to dry.
    On the shelves inside the cabinets, some fine crystal glasses survived in twos and threes from what must once have been sets of six or eight, fast-food and gas-station promotional tumblers filling the gaps. All the glasses were turned right side up, like they’d already been dry when put away. I tented a handkerchief around the middle three fingers of my right hand, then dipped into three of the cheaper ones in front and brought them down onto the counter.
    As I laid each into the donut box, Pettengill said, “You taking those for prints?“
    “If you and Finn don’t mind.“
    “I don’t, and Oz told you the same.“
    “We’ll check with him again on the way out.“
    “Anything else in here?“
    I looked around at the yellowed linoleum and the rusty toaster and the old refrigerator that made me think of the handles on the doors of the last place I’d seen the girl I thought was Melinda.
    “Not that I could tell you.“

    Pettengill said, “Oz?“
    No response.
    A little louder and a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Oz?“
    His head lifted and his eyes opened, and for a second the smile came from the store-bought teeth, the young man inside looking forward to life again. Then Finn saw me and remembered, and the eyes focused, losing their brightness. “You get what you needed?“
    I showed him the glasses in the box. “Okay if I take these?“
    “Yes. I don’t need them.“
    Pettengill and I thanked him, then turned to go. From behind us, Finn said, “Not fair.“
    I turned back. “I’m sorry?“
    The old man looked up at me. “I’ve had myself a long life, most of it happy with the love of a good woman to help. Life wasn’t fair to Melinda. Short and unhappy.“
    I expected Pettengill just to nod again, but instead he said, “Never knew life to be fair, Oz. The days are good or bad, but fair somehow doesn’t seem part of it.“
    The lower lip pouted out. “She deserved better. Girl with her spunk, she deserved better than she got. It turns out that body... is her, Mr. Cuddy, I’d appreciate your letting me know so I can at least arrange a decent funeral for her.“
    As we went through the unlocked front door, Oswald Finn said, “Lord, but I miss you, Melinda. I truly do.“
    Neither one of us made any move to go back in to him.

8

    W e going to see Eddie’s parents now?“
    Kyle Pettengill twisted in the passenger seat toward me. “Thought we might have some lunch first.“
    “Sounds good to me.“
    “Glad to hear it, since you’re buying. Take this next right.“
    I did. “How about at least the name?“
    “The name?“
    “The last name of the parents.“
    Pettengill rubbed at his chin. “After we eat. Maybe.“

    It was a pub in the major block of the downtown on Main Street I found a space two hundred feet from the front entrance, only about a dozen people stopping on the sidewalk to say hail to the chief. Lucky we hadn’t parked any farther away.
    Inside there was a burnished brass-railed bar and some half-back stools. Booths for couples and groups nestled under illuminated, stained-glass portraits of skiers doing crosscountry, downhill, slalom, and moguls. The walls behind the Portraits were dark wainscoting, all the way to the ceiling, where the chandeliers looked like giant Tiffany lamps. No ferns, no yuppies, just half a dozen porcelain pulls for draft beer and ales, only three